Pet Therapy

For 26 years, every birthday and Christmas I wanted one thing. A pet. Really I wanted a dog but I knew I was pushing my luck. I aimed smaller. A hamster maybe. A rabbit. Anything! My family are not pet people. The answer was always no. Yet every Christmas Eve I secretly held onto the hope that THIS would be the year it’d happen – I’d finally get the pet I always wanted. 

When I became ill it was clear that I was unable to clean out a hamster cage or take a dog for a walk. My parents had enough on their plates looking after me and so I hoped my siblings would say they’d look after a pet for me and I could just cash in all of the cuddles I’d craved. Alas, no. 
Along came Mr Tree Surgeon…
The mega-hutch! Used for only a couple of hours as they have become house guinea pigs…
Meet Popcorn…
…and Delores.
None of us like the noise of the hoover so we hide away together.

Published by Anna Redshaw

Blogging about life in the slow lane with an invisible, chronic illness. I wasn't always a sick chick so this is somewhat of a life changing experience!

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